necessary evil pt 2

Part 1

“He probably got spooked by the rain. Maybe he went to a friend’s house.”

I don’t respond. I re-check the location of his phone. It’s still at home. I try looking at the cameras. Nothing but black fuzz.

Rain smashes down on the windshield so hard we can hardly see ten feet ahead. In the distance a bolt of lightning cracks through the sky, lighting up our little town like it’s the big city and I can’t help but think it’s a warning sign.

Bernard’s phone rings incessantly. Surely folks are concerned about the scene I just caused. He, surprisingly, doesn’t answer.

I’m out of the car before Bernard even puts it in park. Rainey stands on the wrap-around porch, soaking wet, covered in mud.

“I’m sorry.” She croaks out.

I don’t have time to be angry with her. For always turning off the cameras when she sneaks out, for leaving her younger brother unattended. This is what teen girls do and I know that.

I rush inside, the place we built from the ground up, the place I’d poured my heart into. It’s the kind of house that says: we have made it. We are safe.

Then I see it. A single shred of notebook paper. Trapped there, under the chocolate syrup Asher surely forgot to put away.

The letter that confirms what I already know to be true.

Bernard snatches the note out of my hand before I can even comprehend it.

“They’re going to demand a ransom.” He says with an uncomfortable amount of confidence. Like he’s been preparing for this.

“We’re not going to give in to these fucking psychos.” Bernard grabs his phone, I know he’s calling the police. I lunge at him with all my strength.

“They said don’t do it. They could hurt him!” I dig my nails into his hands, trying to claw the phone away.

Bernard shoves me away, reacting in the exact fashion I expect him to.

“You think I’m going to let someone fuck with me like this?”

******

Bernard calls David who promptly relays the “issue” to of his numerous friends at the FBI and now our driveway overflows with red and blue flashing lights. Painting our home like a crime scene.

But I guess that’s because it is a crime scene.

The “most skilled of the force” arrives within an hour. FBI Agent Gina Martinez. She moves through our home like she’s inventorying everything for auction. When she makes her way to Asher’s room. She slows. Taking stock of his drawings, his legos, the things that remind just how little he really is.

“Smart kid.” She says as she admires his science fair awards.

“Very.” I try to remain stoic but then I worry I’ll come off cold. Aloof. Uncaring and I can’t have people thinking that about me. Not right now.

“And this is…” She points to the hamster on his desk.

“That’s Henry… his class hamster.” I allow myself to get choked up… “He—his teacher, actually called earlier. She said… Nobody wanted to take Henry home. So, Asher did… he didn’t want him to be alone.”

I feel naked on a stage in front of my audience of one. A softness arises in Agent Martinez’ eyes.

“I’ve got two of my own.” She offers me up a smile and a reassurance.

“Had Asher seemed off at all recently?” She asks as she grazes the hamster cage. She’s back on her mission. Like a dog who has re-discovered the scent they’re after.

“No. I mean, he’s a quiet boy. He doesn’t have a lot of friends. That’s why I know he isn’t out somewhere. In a storm nonetheless, he hates outdoor things.”

“But he didn’t seem off?” She’s circling back, which means I’m not saying what she needs to hear. I adjust my answer accordingly.

“No. He didn’t seem off. At all.” I promptly reply and from that moment on I’m lost in her sea of endless questions.

“And there’s no friends you can think to contact?”

“His closest friend is the school librarian.”

Agent Martinez watches my mouth, not my eyes. Which is something I find interesting. Something to be aware of.

“What was he wearing?”

“This is his phone?”

“Has he ever run away?”

“Any medical conditions we should know about?”

“Does he have access to a car or money?”

“Any recent conflicts at school or home?”

“Why the hell are you asking about Asher’s teachers? He was taken by some fucking nut job, obviously. You’re wasting valuable time.” Bernard snaps and I realize we are now in the living room.

“My team is out doing everything we can right now. I want to make sure I understand Asher’s current state as best I can… and do you have any idea who this nut job could be, who would want to cause Asher harm?”

Agent Martinez looks right at me but I freeze and any voice I had just putters out. Agent Martinez notices this.

But Bernard takes charge. He always does.

“I’m one of the most successful real estate developers in the state and I’m running for Governor. The list is endless. Enemies. Protesters. Smear campaigns. Politics.” He swells as he speaks, anger puffing him up where fear won’t fit.

“Dozens of lunatics message us every goddamn day, constantly threatening our lives and our safety. There are animals out there and now one of them has our fucking child.”

He’s right. because how many enemies does one accumulate when you treat people like stepping stones? My stomach twists into knots.

Because I know something Martinez doesn’t know. That Bernard definitely doesn’t want anyone to know about it. I know about Pete.

“And you were both…?”

“At the gala, all night. With over two hundred guests.” Bernard retorts, clearly hitting his threshold.

“What are your people doing? To find him? You’re all just standing around here like idiots. Do you have any idea who I am? Who I work with?” Ugh. I hate when people posture like that. It’s so …. embarrassing, trashy, tacky. I realize how odd it is for that to be a thought I have right now but ugh.

“We’re doing everything we can Mr. Grant. Canvassing. Talking to neighbors. The woods are a disaster—rain, mud, no footprints. We’re pulling camera footage from nearby houses. Looking for an abnormal car. A plate that doesn’t belong.”

But this ‘everything’ isn’t enough. Not for us, especially not for Bernard Grant.

“I just want to ask this one more time, for clarity. I understand that internet trolls are a constant threat but is there anyone you’re close to – who would use Asher against you? Business partners, neighbors, extended family members?”

Bernard places his head in his hands and sighs.

“My business partner, Pete Turner.” My stomach drops at his admission.

I know that Pete is a loose thread. And I know that if Martinez keeps pulling on that thread, something is going to unravel.

“What happened?” Martinez probes.

“Pete is—was my CFO for the last fifteen years. One of my best friends for twenty…But then— ”

“—He fired him for embezzlement.” I cut to the chase. Bernard snaps his head my direction. He’s pissed. But I have no choice. I’m doing what any mother would do. I’m trying to find our son. I’m offering up any possible explanation, any possible suspect, any possible lead.

Martinez leans forward slightly. “How much are we talking about?”

“Over twenty million.” I state.

The number hangs in the air. Bernard refocuses his energy on me, and I can feel the weight of his gaze. The confusion.

The real question he’s pondering in that thick head of his… “How did you know the amount?”

“Pete was angry,” I tell Martinez. “Livid because Bernard was going to press charges.”

“Where is Pete Turner now?” Martinez asks.

“I don’t know… but Pete showed up tonight. He was hammered at the gala, screaming, shouting. I just don’t see how there’s even a chance he could have done this.” I explain in confusion.

“We’ll check the timelines but there’s no also time to waste.”

By 3:15 a.m., every law enforcement agency within two hundred miles was searching for Pete Turner but his apartment was empty. His car was gone. His credit cards were untouched.

Martinez returned, clearly frustrated to ask Bernard one simple question.

“Is there anything else you’re not telling me? Because I can’t help you. I can’t find your son. I cannot find Asher unless I know everything and I mean absolutely fucking everything.”

And while he shook his head no with conviction, I knew… Bernard Grant had far darker secrets that some missing money.

Martinez and another agent question Rainey in the kitchen. I can hear her voice from the living room. Small, frightened, cracking apart with each answer. Martinez’s tone is gentle but relentless.

“What time exactly did you leave the house?”

“How many times have you left and turned off the cameras?”

Something Bernard was wondering about at this point too.

“How fucking stupid could she be?!” He muttered under his breath with palpable disgust. As if he wasn’t the real reason we were in this mess.

“Did Asher mention anything unusual? Any new friends you didn’t know about? Anyone who made him uncomfortable?”

With each question, more tears fell from her bright blue eyes. Her sobs became ragged and panicked until I couldn’t take it anymore.

I rush to her side as I watch our life fall apart in real time. Watch it happen the way you watch a car crash. Unable to look away, unable to stop it, unable to do anything but wince at the destruction.

I find Rainey in her room, curled on her bed, still in her muddy clothes, her whole body shaking with silent sobs.

I crawl into bed beside her without a word. I remember being fifteen. The fragility of it. The all-consuming nature of each weekend. How every party was the most important party of your life. How quickly shame could swallow you whole. How easy it was to be convinced that one wrong step would determine your future. How it could feel like you were responsible for things that were never in your power to control.

She turns to me, her face blotchy and swollen.

“Mom… what did I do?” Her voice was barely a whisper. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything,” I say firmly, reaching up to brush her hair back from her face. The strands are damp with sweat and tears. “I promise you, honey. You didn’t do anything.”

I keep brushing, slow and steady, the way I used to when she was small. My fingers work through the tangles gently, methodically.

“It’s all going to be okay,” I whisper, and I mean it with every fiber of my being. “He’s going to come back. Do you hear me? He’s going to come back, and this is all going to be one bad dream.”

When she’s finally asleep, I head to my room. I’ve known mom-guilt before but this… it swallows me whole until somewhere between consciousness and tears, I sleep.

“Who is playing that?” His scream reverberates throughout the house.

I hear the melody. It’s a song I know. An extremely bizarre song for someone to be playing right now. It’s our wedding song.

“I got you to hold my hand, I got you to understand, I got you to walk with me, I got you to talk with me, I got you to kiss goodnight, I got you to hold me tight, I got you, I won’t let go.”

I rush downstairs to join Bernard in finding the source.

We all pull and tug at speakers and devices and anything that could produce this incessant audio.

Bernard yanks cords right from the wall.

An agent checks the security system, which is now back on.

Martinez appears in the hallway, phone already in her hand, radioing for tech support.

I stop, breath and try to focus on the sound. It’s muffled but near as I step away from the dining table towards the kitchen, it grows louder. It’s like that game we played as kids… Am I hot or cold???

I slow my pace around the kitchen island and I’m boiling as I open up the garbage drawer. And there it is. A small, black flip phone. Glowing through coffee grounds and eggshells and the wreckage of our normal life.

My hands shake as I pull it from the mess.

“It’s… ringing….”

Bernard snatches it out of my hands and answers.

“Who the hell is this?!” He roars into the phone.

Instantly a woman’s voice speaks out. It’s synthetic, cold and eerily calm.

“Your son, Asher Grant is alive and we plan to keep him that way for the next five days. As long as you, Mr. Grant, meet every item on our list of demands.”

“Where is he? What do you want? GIVE US OUR SON!” Bernard shouts but it’s into the void because the line is already dead.

My blood runs cold. And I know at this moment… If we thaw, nothing will be the same.